3:40 AM: The Nazi with the Razor
Much more happened before this, but I don’t recall it. The last scene was exceptionally vivid in memory, though –

I’m in the middle of a large-ish room, and there is a man in a tiny room adjacent to it, like a closet, only brightly lit and bare. He is sitting on some sort of stool, and whetting a very sharp, small knife; it reminds me of the blade-end of a straight razor. The visual image of him smoothly drawing it across the fabric of his pants, wiping the blade, is very clear. I am incarcerated here somehow; I don’t remember being restrained or tied up, but at some points there is another man who is holding me, I think by the hands- he is talking to the man in the closet. The man is asking how I escaped – the guard says that we celebrated my funeral. They talk back and forth some more. I get the feeling that I am in here because I’m gay; it seems like a Nazi thing. The guard finally takes me toward the little room, and holds out my left hand, and the man in the closet with the knife reaches out and grabs my wrist from the underside, and takes his razor and slices it down my wrist in one clean stroke. I notice that it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as I had thought it might; the blade must be very sharp. I can see myself from two perspectives: one looking at my own blood flowing out from the cut, the other from the side, seeing the 3 people as a tableau. Then I realize that I can just watch the scene and experience it, because it won’t hurt me because I am dreaming. I try to become lucid and move from the dream scene, but it fades, and I wake.